Seduction & Scandal (27 page)

“D
O YOU RECALL
the night we dined at Black's?” Wendell Knighton droned on. With a yawn, Lucy pretended interest in her embroidery hoop.

“Of course,” Isabella replied.

Lucy had no clue how her cousin tolerated Mr. Knighton's uninspiring company. His conversation always threatened to put Lucy to sleep.

“We spoke of the Templars and the mystery surrounding them.”

“I remember,” Isabella murmured as she poured Knighton another cup of tea.

Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was nearly ten and wondered when Knighton would take his leave. She was tired tonight and wished for a warm bath and her bed, but that would hardly do, for she was chaperoning her cousin's visit with her suitor.

“Well, I've come across something rather interesting. The Brethren Guardians.”

Lucy took a sip of her tea and glanced at Knighton. He was itching to tell them something. She could tell. He always preened, and got this queer glittering look in his eye. If he began talking once again about his expedition to Jerusalem, Lucy did not know what she'd do. She wanted to pull out her hair, she'd heard the stories so many times. She could just imagine how Isabella felt. Poor dear, she mused as she took in Isabella's polite but distant expression.

He certainly was no Lord Black. Somehow, Lucy knew that her cousin missed the company of that particular gentleman. They had seen little of Black, but Sussex had been a frequent visitor to their home, along with his sister, Elizabeth. She had seen Issy's eyes light up with each visit, only to see the glimmer of hope die away when Black was not part of the party.

Lucy had no idea what had happened between the two. She only knew that her cousin was utterly miserable. She pretended happiness, but in her unguarded moments, Isabella would glance wistfully across the street at Black's town house.

She wanted to tell her to go to him, but she promised herself that she would no longer intrude in Isabella's life. After their argument, Lucy had bit her tongue, allowing her cousin to do what she thought was right. But thinking of her marrying the staid and somewhat pompous Mr. Knighton was not in Isabella's best interests, Lucy was sorely tempted to tell Issy that, and damn the consequences.

Setting the needlepoint aside, Lucy sighed and watched her cousin with Knighton. There was little passion on either side, and in truth, Issy's once good opinion of Knighton had faded, turning into something that could only be called polite disinterest. Lucy wondered if Knighton felt it, the slow withdrawal of Isabella's interest and affection.

Knighton droned on about the Templars, and Lucy glanced once at the clock. She wondered how to extricate herself for only a few moments, when something Knighton said caught her attention.

“You will recall the pendant I mentioned?”

Lucy's ears perked up.

“I do, yes,” Isabella answered.

“It holds magical properties.”

“What sort of magical properties?” Isabella asked with what Lucy was certain was feigned interest.

Knighton smiled knowingly. “The seeds from the apple Eve took from the Tree of Knowledge. The seeds, they say, when ingested, bring the person their greatest wish, and universal knowledge.”

Suddenly, everything stopped, and Lucy found herself transfixed by Knighton's story. “Their greatest wish?” she asked, knowing what her wish would be—to be reunited with her dead lover.

“Indeed,” Knighton replied as he reached into his pocket. “But there is a scroll to go with it. It tells how the seeds work, and what must be done to gain their power.”

Lucy knew where the scroll was. Knew exactly where it was.

Her heart started to race as she recalled that afternoon at Sussex House, when she and Isabella had visited Elizabeth. She'd just returned from refreshing herself, when she walked past Sussex's study. Inside, the duke, Black and Alynwick had been talking. She stopped to listen, hoping to hear something from Black about Isabella—for she had been determined to see her cousin with the earl. But she had heard something else. Strange talk of pendants and scrolls, and then the marquis stated he'd taken the scroll to the library at the Masonic lodge.

She hadn't given it more than a fleeting thought at the time, but now her thoughts were churning, trying to recall every snippet of their conversation.

“Oh, Wendell,” Isabella gasped. “It's extraordinary.”

Lucy saw the glittering egg-shaped pendant shining in the firelight. It was made of onyx and embossed with gold symbols. It hung from a long gold chain, and it seemed to beckon, to beg to be touched.

“Yes,” Knighton whispered as he lost himself in the beauty of the swaying pendant. “Simply extraordinary. And it's my find.
Mine…
”

“This will be such a coup for your career,” Isabella said, but Knighton's eyes narrowed and he hurriedly stuffed it into his pocket. But he missed, and the pendant spilled out and thudded softly to the carpet.

All Lucy could think about was how she wanted it. Would it work? Could it be possible that the pendant did have powers? Would it bring back her lover?

“I'm not ready yet to share the find with the world,” Knighton mumbled. “Naturally you won't say anything to anyone, will you?”

“Of course not, Wendell.”

“Lady Lucy?”

“No,” she murmured, unable to take her gaze off the onyx stone and the gold chain that was curled up like a snake on the carpet beneath Knighton's chair.

“Well, it's late, and I have more studying to do. My second degree,” Knighton preened. “Good night, my dear.”

Knighton bowed before Isabella, and Lucy heard her cousin say that she would show Knighton the door.

When they left the study, Lucy quickly moved out of her chair and fell to her knees as she reached for the locket. Once it was in her hand, she was surprised by the warmth of the stone as it rested in her palm. She could almost feel its power oozing into her skin.

This pendant was the only means of finding him again. Séances had proved futile and she had long given up on praying. No, this was the only way. And she knew the location of the vital piece needed to fully understand the power of the pendant.

God help her, but she was going to take it and use it, and find love once more. Where was the harm in it?

 

T
HE REALIZATION
that they were no closer to finding the chalice or the pendant made Black's mood more foul. Orpheus had eluded them, as if he had somehow known they
were coming. The club's owner had literally vanished into the smoke, despite the fact one of the Brethren Guardians had gone nearly every night to the club. That vexed him.

After scouring every inch of the Adelphi, they had found nothing, and the fact that they had uncovered nothing more of any value only further frustrated what little sanity Black had left.

The longer the chalice and pendant were missing, the greater the chance someone might discover their true purpose. And that he couldn't accept. It was his duty, his sworn oath, to protect, and he'd failed.

Smoothing his hands over his face, he tried to think through the small bits of information they had acquired. Perhaps he had overlooked something? But he knew they hadn't. Their search of the lodge had produced nothing, and Sussex's investigation revealed that Stonebrook did not keep Masonic letterhead in his study.

He groaned when he thought of Stonebrook, for it led to only one place. Isabella.

Damn it! Two weeks without her. He could barely stand it. He had spent it in a haze, a fog of whiskey and unabated desire. His companion was the night, the fire that crackled in the hearth and Lamb, who dozed lazily at his feet.

He flatly refused to get up and glance out the window, staring up at her window like a love-struck fool. But he was. A fool. And love-struck, too. And he so desperately wanted another glimpse of her.

He wondered if Isabella felt him when he thought of her. Did she know he was moping about in this mausoleum of his? Did she know the only time his house had felt like a home was the night she had dined there?

Did she even care? No, how could she? She had forsaken him, and now he was drunk, and feeling dangerous.

How did he get around this, her paralyzing fear of passion? Goddamn it, he had not risked his own life to save
hers for nothing. She was tossing this second chance of life away, and he was enraged by the fact. To spend a lifetime with someone like Knighton, someone who would never know her true desires, even after a decade with her, was anathema to him. How could she want what Knighton offered, when Black could offer her so much more? He'd give everything for her, and Knighton would give her nothing that mattered.

He had watched them together at the museum, and detected nothing but the most mild of friendships. Knighton didn't look at her the way a man ought to look at his lover. And she did not look at him like a woman who had been awakened by a lover's touch. No, she had looked at
him
like that when she had experienced her first climax in his arms.

Angry, he picked up his crystal glass and fired it at the hearth, watching as the amber contents splashed into the flames, igniting them, sending them dancing viciously up the flue. Lamb barely stirred. His pet was used to the childish displays he had chosen to hide behind. He had been acting this way ever since Isabella had decided to cut him from her life. He was not used to such a thing. He did not invite closeness in others, nor did he invite them in, but he had offered Isabella a rare invitation to discover what lay inside the reclusive Earl of Black's soul, and she had rebuffed it. The fact still stung. She hadn't wanted what he was so ready to show her.

Resting his head back against the chair, he closed his eyes and laughed in pain and self-deprecation. He had never loved before—certainly he had experienced a familial love for his brother and mother—his father he'd never been close to. But he had loved his mother, and Francis, his younger brother. He had been engaged at the age of twelve. He had grown to like Abigail Livingstone, but never had he grown to love her. And the other women in his life…nothing had ever been close to love. It had been
lust. Animal needs. There was no affection, just physical pleasure. And that had all changed when he'd dived into the ocean and swum the swirling depths to save Isabella.

Holding her in his arms, something inside him awakened. These feelings she feared were not sudden, he thought. They had been growing inside him these past two years, until he was so damn in love with her he couldn't see straight.

Perhaps she would believe him if he told her the truth, but then his secret would be out, and she would run from him, because he was a part of her past she didn't want to remember.

There must be a way, he told himself. Some way to make Isabella see that life with Knighton would be a disaster. If only he could make her believe in his love. Make her understand that love was like an endless ocean, with no beginning or end.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at the book he had left open on the table next to him. He picked it up, read the words and reflected how they resonated within his soul.

Would Isabella find the words that Rumi had written centuries before as profound as he did? He could say nothing better than what the poet had written. Every word was how he felt about Isabella. He wanted to love her, nourish her, hold her until Death claimed him. Even in death he
had the sense that he would still feel her. His soul, upon every rebirth, would always seek out hers.

“My lord,” Billings asked. “A missive has come.”

“Enter.”

The butler stepped cautiously into the library, clearly noting the shards of crystal that glimmered in the dying glow of the fire.

“Shall I bring in a broom, milord?”

“No, I shall see to it in the morning.”

Black flicked the letter open. Glancing at the words, he carefully folded it back up and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “I'm going out,” he said. “Don't wait up, Billings.”

“Very good, milord. Shall I set Lamb out again tonight?”

At the sound of his name, the mastiff lifted his head, his ears were up, alert. His huge tongue lolled out of his mouth, as if anticipating the duty before him.

“Yes,” Black murmured as he rubbed behind the dog's ear. “Send him over to Stonebrook's. And you'll protect my lady from harm, won't you.”

There was a keen understanding in Lamb's eyes, and when Billings called for the beast, Lamb loped across the floor and bounded out of the room. Strolling to the window, he watched the massive dog run across the street, only to hide in the side gardens, standing sentinel beneath Isabella's bedroom window. If she would not allow him to protect her then Lamb was the next best thing.

 

B
LIND, HE KNELT
before the fire. The flickering flames warmed his face, even as the draft of air wrapped around him.

“What have you learned, Knighton?”

Swallowing, he used the fleeting seconds to formulate his lie. “The text I discovered is in poor condition. It'll take time to decipher the tale of the Templars.”

Something hard hit the stone, and he jumped at the
sound. He was normally not a brave, heroic man, but in this matter he would die for his cause. He was utterly consumed by the Templar story. By the seductive voice that spoke to him from the pendant.

The voice told him of the powers it possessed. Of what could be done if he could but find the chalice. His wildest dreams—his most coveted fantasy could come to life.